


Make Me

by LennaNightrunner



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Complete, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennaNightrunner/pseuds/LennaNightrunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was the foolish fancy of a naïve boy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Somewhat dark at the end. Cullen has some issues to work through, as we well know. This is not a fluffy fic.

“The lad shows promise,” Captain Aurus had said to Knight-Commander Tavish, and then Knight-Commander Tavish had said the same thing to Knight-Commander Greagoir. That was how Cullen had found himself walking through the front doors of the Circle Tower two years before he had been ordained. “A trial run,” Greagoir had said, “to see if you might fit in here once you’ve taken your vows.”

For the first week Cullen had been certain that he wouldn’t. The halls echoed and the mages _stared_ at him and all that magic in the air made his skin crawl.

“How did you get used to it?” he had asked one of the Templars, but all he had gotten in answer was a shrug. With that kind of support, he was certain to feel at home right away, wasn’t he?

“How are you getting on?” The Knight-Commander never quite managed to sound friendly, but at least he _talked_ to Cullen.

“Great, ser,” Cullen had said, “really well,” but he hadn’t sounded convincing even to himself.

The Knight-Commander had given him a knowing look. “Cheer up, boy. It’ll just take time.”

And it had. About a month of time. By then the Templars had apparently decided that it took too much effort to ignore a novice who slept in the same quarters and ate every meal with them. They weren't always friendly, but he got along fairly well with a few of them, and that was enough. He had never really become close to any of the other boys in the Chantry, either.

Everything was finally starting to feel normal.

And then _she_ had ruined everything.

* * *

Since Cullen was the most junior (and not technically yet a) Templar he had been assigned to the youngest group of apprentices. Children, some so young they could hardly talk properly, who tended to glow or shoot sparks when they didn’t get their way. Cullen spent a lot of time standing silently in a corner until one of them threw a tantrum. A moment of concentration, and the magic was snuffed like a candle, granting him a minute or two of peace before another one of them misbehaved.

As a girl of four accidentally encased her master’s book in ice, Cullen reflected on the realization that the life of a Templar wasn’t as glamorous as he had imagined. But his eyes settled on a stone carving of the Seal of Andraste and he reminded himself that he believed in the Chantry's mission; mages were dangerous to themselves and to others. They needed to be carefully guarded and controlled.

There was certainly daily evidence of that in the tower: things getting frozen or set on fire (It was a very good thing that the tower was made almost entirely of stone), people being paralyzed or crushed by invisible forces, and--

“Excuse me?”

In the space of a second Cullen started, cursed himself for it, and hoped the elf girl who had snuck up on him hadn’t noticed.

By the sound of her poorly-stifled giggle, she had. Cullen narrowed his eyes at her.

“Yes?”

“I’m supposed to help you round up the brats and get them down to dinner.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at her. “There’s a boy who usually does that.”

“Yes, well.” The girl evaded his eyes. “Bram doesn’t seem as bad of a troublemaker compared with the girl who may or may not have set her master’s robes on fire because she’s no good at primal magic....”

If she was trying to look remorseful, she wasn’t doing a very good job.

“All right,” said Cullen. He let the girl ‘round up the brats’ and they walked down to the dining hall together. She looked openly bored and annoyed the whole way, and breathed a dramatic sigh of relief when she had gotten the children seated at their table. When Cullen gave her a disapproving stare, she grinned.

“Cheer up,” she said, “there’s pie for dessert tonight.”

Before he could respond, she had winked at him and gone to join the oldest apprentices at their table.

Something in Cullen’s chest twinged.

_Oh, no._

* * *

“Bored yet?”

Cullen jumped, then glared at the ‘brat’ girl. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Her false expression of innocence made him bristle, and he didn’t answer.

He went back to watching the mage children stumble over spells while the elf girl stood next to him and whistled obnoxiously. Why had she had to arrive earl--

"What's your name?"

Cullen blinked and looked down at her. “What?”

“What’s your _name_?” she repeated.

"Why do you want to know?"

She giggled. "I can't call you 'ser' if you're not a Templar."

“So don’t call me anything,” he muttered. A little boy was making balls of light float toward the ceiling. A moment of focus, and Cullen made the lights fade and the child slump to the floor.

The girl rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” Cullen sighed deeply. “It’s Cullen.”

"Cullen,” she said. "Rhymes with 'sullen.' Very apt."

Cullen bristled again and crossed his arms.

“Cullen?”

“What?”

“Fire versus ice over there.”

When she pointed at the boy and girl who were shooting bolts at each other while their master looked at Cullen desperately for help, he cursed under his breath.

It was hard to concentrate properly when he was thinking about how his name sounded coming from her lips.

* * *

Three hours until his night shift began and Cullen had nothing to do. Joining some of the Templars for an after-dinner drink would be frowned upon because he needed his mind to be clear. So he went to the apprentices’ library, pulled down a book on the Tevinter Imperium, and sat down on what he hoped was the least uncomfortable chair around the nearest table.

He was ten pages into the book before he noticed the elf girl sitting on a stool across the room from him, absorbed in her own book. He tried to watch her discreetly while keeping his face angled down. She had one knee pulled up to her chest beneath her robes so her arm could rest on it, and she was chewing on her lip absently while she read.

She must have felt his eyes on her, though, because she glanced up at him. He quickly looked back down at the book, but it was no use. He heard the cover of her book close and her soft footsteps coming toward him. His fingers gripped the worn leather binding as he felt her hovering next to him. Maker, he could _smell_ her.

"Ignoring me?"

Cullen kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the words in front of him, which had ceased to be comprehensible since the moment he had seen her biting her lip. "No."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

"I'm reading."

"You haven't turned the page in a while."

"I'm a slow reader."

"Right." She hovered next to him awkwardly, but when he didn’t say anything else, she heaved a disappointed sigh. "Well, it's bedtime for me. See you around."

* * *

Cullen liked night shifts. The mages were in the Fade for the proper reason--to dream--so the tower was quiet except for the sound of his footsteps, and that feeling of magic that somehow tasted metallic was diminished.

"Cullen."

He had half-drawn his sword when he spun around to find _her_ standing in front of him with that infuriating smirk on her lips.

"Hi."

"What in the name of the Maker do you think you're doing?" He tried to steady his heartbeat and sheath his sword again without showing her that she had surprised him. From the look on her face, he hadn't succeeded.

"Taking a walk."

"A _walk_."

"Yes,” she said brightly. “I couldn't sleep."

Cullen gritted his teeth. "Go back to bed."

"I don't want to."

"Failing to obey a Templar's comman--"

"But you're not a Templar, are you?"

"I--" He crossed his arms. "Well, I _will_ be one."

"When?"

“When I’m old enough. When the Knight-Commander says I’m ready.”

“You look old enough to me.”

“I--”

“Not very articulate, are you?”

“You haven’t given me a chance to talk,” he said irritably.

“So talk.”

“I....”

“Profound.” She smirked.

“Watch yourself, mage.”

“Why? I’ve got you to watch me, haven’t I?”

Her expression made something in Cullen’s stomach twinge. _No. Make her go away._

“Go back to bed,” he repeated, and swallowed thickly.

“Make me.”

“You--” Cullen narrowed his eyes at her. “I won’t warn you again.”

“Good.” The girl grinned.

_Infuriating little_ \--

He grabbed her upper arm in his gauntleted hand and began dragging her toward the staircase.

“Ouch,” she said, but she was laughing. The sound echoed off the walls and he whirled around and grabbed her other hand.

“Be _quiet_ ,” he hissed. “Are you trying to wake the whole tower?”

“Why should you care? You’re just taking an unruly mage back to the apprentices’ quarters. Nothing _inappropriate_ going on.”

Her _voice_. Maker help him.

Cullen twisted his grip on her wrists, backed her into a stone alcove, and slammed her against the wall. Her wince of pain struck that damnable smile off her face.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he growled.

“I should ask you the same question! You don’t have to crush my wrists to get me to stop moving, you _ass_.” She glared up at him.

_What?_ When Cullen looked down at her hands he found angry marks where the metal was digging into the skin of her wrists. _Oh_. He loosened his grip considerably, but didn’t let go.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he repeated in a lower voice.

Her eyes were fixed on his. "I'm not doing anything to you."

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it had been a mistake getting this close to her. He could _smell_ her again. He could see how _green_ her eyes were and he wanted to--

“Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“It’s magic.” He shook his head again. “ _Stop it._ ”

She rolled her eyes. “If I was doing magic, you’d know.”

"It _is_." It _has_ to be.

"No, _this_ is magic." She pulled one of her hands from his grip and pressed her palm to his cheek. It was warm. Too warm. His skin started to itch and prickle unpleasantly. A healing spell when he didn't need healing.

"Stop!" He pulled her hand away from his face, but magic was still radiating from her.

" _Make me_."

Her self-satisfied smirk was infuriating. _Fine, have it your way_. Cullen closed his eyes and focused on the unwelcome, unsettling feeling of the magic she had pulled from the Fade. He willed it away, and when it was gone he opened his eyes to find her staring at him.

He had been expecting her to have that stunned, hazy look mages got when magic was knocked out of them, but her expression was very different. Her eyes were hazy, but in a way that made him shiver.

_Maker forgive me._

Cullen cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. When she responded, a thrill rushed through his stomach and his eyelids slid closed. She made a sound in her throat and pressed closer against him. All thoughts of _elf_ and _mage_ and _stop_ fled his mind, and were replaced by _warm_ and _lips_ and _yes_.

But when her fingers found his hair he came to his senses and abruptly pulled away from her.

_No._

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Go away.”

The simple confusion in her expression angered him. What right did she have to act like this was nothing out of the ordinary?

“I don’t under--”

“Go,” he snarled. “ _Now_.”

“But--”

“Now!” Cullen shoved at her shoulder so hard that she staggered and nearly fell to the stone floor.

That successfully shut her mouth. The girl gave him one last defiant look and hurried toward the staircase.

_Maker forgive me._ Cullen gripped the stone sill of the nearest window and pressed his forehead against the cold pane of glass. _Maker forgive me._

* * *

That was when the dreams began. Dreams of soft lips and pointed ears and dazed green eyes with large pupils. Dreams of that _voice_ calling his name, so that he chased it through the Fade until he woke up hating himself for wanting to go back to sleep.

So he tried to sleep as little as possible. He volunteered for night shifts and spent his days sparring and reading and reciting the Chant of Light over and over again in his head.

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

_Andraste, guide me. I shall not falter again._

* * *

“When do you sleep?”

That _voice_. Cullen stared resolutely out the window into the dark and didn’t answer.

“I really am curious. You read nearly all the time, and then you’re up all night _guarding_ us. You must sleep at least a _little_.”

_Not very much._ And avoiding the dreams only seemed to make it more difficult for him not to think of her when he was awake.

“Been following me, have you?”

“It’s not hard to know where someone is if they’re only in one of three places all the time.”

He rubbed at his face. “Go away.”

“Make me.”

“Stop _saying_ that.”

Cullen turned and looked at her. Her eyebrows were drawn in concern, and he gave her a bitter laugh. As though she cared how he felt. He slumped against the stone recess of the window and shook his head in frustration.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” he asked miserably.

The girl moved to stand before him and dared to run her fingers through his short hair. If her intent was to soothe him, then she had failed. He shivered, but he couldn’t pull away. How many times since the dreams had started had he longed for her touch?

"Because I like you,” she said in a gentle voice.

He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. “Do you always torture people you like?”

Her fingers stilled, and when she spoke there was hurt in her voice. “ _Torture_?”

“I--” He opened his eyes, and her expression caused a guilty pang in his chest. “I’m....”

Cullen gave up trying to find words and hung his head wearily. He didn’t fight her when she nudged his chin back up, and when she pressed her lips to his he forced down the voice in his head that kept screaming at him about everything she was and all he was betraying.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked her again when the kiss had ended.

“I like you,” she repeated.

" _Why_?"

She gave him a long, thoughtful look before answering. "You're like them, but you're not."

Them. The Templars.

"I don’t understand."

"You're not... _cold_.” The girl ran her thumb along his cheek, and Cullen’s eyes closed again. “Not yet."

"Yet?"

"You will be. And that's when the Knight-Commander will know you're ready."

* * *

She’d gone back to bed without him asking, thank the Maker, but her scent and her taste and her words had stayed with Cullen when he had finally climbed up onto his bunk in the early morning. He had embraced sleep when it came, but had dreamed of her touch and woken up hating himself again.

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

_Maker, curse my weakness. I have failed You._

Cullen resolved not to speak to her again. He requested that a different mage be responsible for helping him get the children down to dinner, and the request was granted without question. He didn’t need a reason not to want certain mages around.

He didn’t look at her during meals, he stopped requesting night shifts, and when she came into his thoughts at night he recited the Chant of Light in his head until he could finally sleep. He had sinned twice. He could only pray that the Maker would forgive him if he did everything in his power to fight the temptation she presented. He could resist. He _would_ resist.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

_With good reason._ The girl had fallen into step beside him, her footsteps making no sound while his boots thudded against the stones.

“I’m impressed by how long you’ve kept it up.”

Ten steps to the bookcase. Slide the volume from the shelf. Five steps to the chair. Page 56.

“Have you been sleeping? You look less haggard.”

_The might and majesty of the Imperium may have faded, but it still makes its presence known, even in the most distant corners of Thedas. Every child has been brought up on stories of Tevinter as it is now: a decadent nation, ruled by the archon and his court of magisters — great, and no doubt corrupt, mage-lords._

“What are you reading? It must be _terribly_ interesting.”

_Their Chantry a mockery of our own, their Black Divine a man chosen from the ranks of the Minrathous Circle of Magi. The Maker’s most hallowed law, "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," perverted. Mages in the Imperium say their most sacred duty is to serve man, and they serve best by wielding political power._

“If you’re looking for ways to pass the time, I can think of a few.”

Her _voice_. Breath against his ear. _No. Be strong_.

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are they--_

“Come on, we’ve got hours before dinner.”

Maker, she smelled good.

“You have to be at least as bored as I am.”

Cullen swallowed thickly, and the girl slid the book from his hands and set it on the table. He avoided her eyes, but he could still see her smiling.

“Please, stop,” he whispered.

“Make me.”

The air in the level below the tower was cold but close and smelled of herbs and dirt and other scents Cullen couldn’t identify. He didn’t know why he was following her. No, he knew exactly why he was following her, and his heart was beating hard from fear just as much as anticipation. Fear that he was already sinning in the eyes of the Maker because he wasn’t fighting the small hand that clasped his, urging him further into a twisting maze of hallways beneath the earth.

“Here,” she whispered, and tugged him into a room not much larger than a pantry and shut the door behind them. They were in total darkness for a moment, and then fire bloomed in her hand and she lit a candle before Cullen reflexively cleansed the air of her magic and the flame in her palm went out. She rolled her eyes and used the candle to light others until the room was fairly well lit.

“Where are we?”

“A place where we can be alone.” Her smile made a spot in his stomach twinge.

A place where mages came to be _alone_. The Knight-Commander would want to know about this. But Cullen could never tell the Knight-Commander about this, because he could never tell anyone why he was down here. Down here with a girl, an elf, a _mage_.

“Now, what was it you wanted me to stop?” she asked him.

Everything. Nothing. _Why are you doing this to me?_

When Cullen didn’t answer, the girl smiled and urged his head down so she could kiss him. Her fingers found his hair, and this time that encouraged him. Soon his hand was gripping the front of her robes and pulling her closer so he could respond with the full force of his hunger.

After a moment she broke away with a giggle. “Even mages need to breathe.”

_Mages_.

_No. Don’t think._

Cullen nodded distractedly and took a few deep breaths to try to stay calm. But when her hands found the buckles of his armor his heartbeat began to race.

_Stop her. No, help her._

He helped. And when the metal was gone and she was pressed against his body Cullen decided that the shirt and close-fitting trousers he wore beneath his armor definitely weren't enough cloth. Whose brilliant idea had it been to make mages wear robes? You couldn’t see their figures, but you could certainly _feel_ them.

She smiled a smile at him that made his mouth go dry, and when she gently pressed him back against the wall he shook his head in confusion. She answered his unspoken question with a quote that didn’t make sense to him in this context.

“Magic exists to serve man.”

Then she dropped to her knees and looked up at him with mischief in her eyes.

“Sweet blood of Andraste....” Cullen murmured.

He was damned.

* * *

Cullen sat panting with his naked back pressed against the ancient stone wall. It felt good; his skin shone with sweat in the candlelight, and he dearly wished that he had some water to drink. _She_ sat at his side, her cheek pressed against his shoulder while her breathing slowed.

He wiped at his face while it all replayed in his head. The smoothness of her skin, those impossibly green eyes rolling back in ecstasy, the way she had said his name again and again in that _voice_. Better than he had dreamed. Better than he had fantasized. And so much worse.

_Was she worth it, Cullen?_

Her hand ran over his arm idly as her warm breath puffed against his skin.

_Was she worth betraying your Maker?_

She nuzzled her face into his shoulder and sighed sleepily.

_Foul and corrupt are they. Foul and corrupt._

“Stop.”

“Hm?” The girl looked up at him.

“ _Stop_.”

“I--”

Cullen shook her off his shoulder and stood. “Get away from me.”

She crossed her arms and laughed without humor. “You have to be joking." The girl got up and stood before him. "After all of that?”

“I mean it, mage!”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you honestly _blaming me_ for what just happened? You wanted it just as much as I did!”

“You’ve played with my mind. Made me do things I would never have done.”

“You’re insane!”

“You _make_ me this way!”

“I’m not doing anything! Why can’t you get that through your thick, metal-encased skull? I’m not _doing anything_.”

Cullen gripped her upper arms roughly. “Stop it.” He shook her. “ _Stop it_.”

“You’re _hurting_ me.” She twisted in his grip, trying to escape. “Let me go!"

When she tried to kick him, he shoved her back into the wall.

“Let me _go_!” She wrenched one of her arms free and made a complex gesture. A split second later Cullen had been shoved away by an invisible force so strong it slammed him against the opposite wall and knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Knife-eared _bitch_ ,” he spat when he had recovered. “You will regret that.”

Suddenly there was fear in her eyes. It occurred to Cullen then that he had never seen her afraid before. The expression looked strange on her. It didn't fit.

She backed away from him, her hand grasping for the doorknob. Cullen caught her wrists again and squeezed tightly. The _mage_ gasped in pain and struggled against him.

"I-I didn't mean to do that. Please don't tell the Knight-Commander," she pleaded. "He'll have me made Tranquil!"

"You should have thought of that before you attacked me."

Tears were streaming down her face, and he could feel magic hovering around her unpleasantly like it often did when mages were upset.

"Please, Cullen." She sniffed.

" _Don't_ use my name."

"Please." The mage stopped struggling and dropped her gaze to her feet. " _Please_ don't tell him."

He fixed her with a contemptuous look and watched her lip tremble while she waited for him to make up his mind.

"Fine."

The girl looked back up at him, eyes filled with tears and disbelief. "Thank y--"

A moment of intense concentration, and the magic and consciousness were knocked out of the mage. Cullen caught her so she wouldn't dash her head and set her on the floor. Then he put his armor back on and left.

She didn't come near him again.

* * *

Another Harrowing. Far too many of the mages had been surviving them lately for Cullen's taste. A mage being able to pass through the Fade once without becoming an abomination didn’t mean that it couldn't fail the next time. Mages would always be in danger of being possessed by demons, who would then attack those outside the Fade.

When the mage was brought in, Cullen didn't recognize her at first. No smile, just confusion. Anxiety. But when she came into the light he remembered her eyes. He had spent the last year pretending that he had only imagined them. Pretending that she was someone else when their paths inevitably crossed day after day. The mage girl who had made him lose his senses wasn’t real. It had all been one long, terrible dream.

Just another apprentice to be tested. Just another apprentice to kill if she failed. And as he watched her through the slit of his helmet he was relieved to know that to her he was just another Templar. Another faceless symbol of the Chantry's power over her. That was how it was supposed to be.

The Knight-Commander reminded her of what she was, revealed to her what she would have to do, and calmly informed her of the consequences should she fail.

The lyrium bathed the room in that particular shade of blue Cullen associated with magic as she approached the bowl the liquid filled. That icy blue he had never seen anywhere else in nature.

_Cold_ , she had said not so very long ago.

His palm rested on the hilt of his sword.

Cold.


End file.
